The Thirteenth Adventures
by CommaConcept
Summary: Trapped in his final incarnation at last, and recovering from the recent death of a companion, the Doctor decides to take his remaining companion Twitch home. The TARDIS has other ideas. Please review!
1. Complications

**Disclaimer: The Doctor in this story is the creation of fellow FFN author Orrien (Flinch-Hayward), who is also my beta reader, so most of the credit goes to her. The companions Molly and Twitch also belong to her, but apparently Nadrin is the creation of one of her friends (not sure who, but I'll find out), as is Harvey (who she thinks belongs to templremus1990, but she can't quite remember).**

**The show itself obviously belongs to the BBC, as does the general concept.**

**In fact, the only thing I can claim for my own, other than the writing, is the design of the TARDIS, which Orrien helped with (it was going to be red, blue and white to be very British, but she suggested making it look mauve overall). **

**Please let me know what you think. **

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There had been four of them. Just the four, and that in itself was a remarkable thing, given his usual penchant for companionship. But his twelfth incarnation had been rather – well, economical, looking back on it. His eleventh, not so much – he had had more than his fair share, actually, sometimes three or four at a time. But his twelfth had stuck to a mere four in total. Perhaps he might have found another, in time – not that it mattered particularly. Ifs, buts and whens – ha! It didn't matter in the slightest, because it was a fact that there had only been four, and facts rarely changed. Facts like that certainly didn't.

But four had been enough. He had chosen them wisely, each with their own merits, and a purpose that he would never quite admit – Harvey, to remind him to feel human every now and again; Nadrin, to remind him that he _wasn't_ human every now and again; Molly, to remind him that it didn't matter; and Twitch, to remind him that they were all just made from sub-atomic particles and that there was little point in differentiation when you got down to it.

He ran his tongue along his teeth. No idea why he actually did that – more habit that anything else. New incarnation, new teeth. After so many regenerations, it got no less strange, having unfamiliar things in his mouth. Well, the mouth itself was new and unfamiliar, too. Everything was. Goodness knew why it was the teeth that bothered him so much. Still, at least this would be the last time he'd have to be bothered by it. The last time. Gosh, he suddenly felt so…mortal.

He leaned back against the central console with a sigh and felt the TARDIS hum against his hands. Sometimes, the Doctor wondered if she changed with him (not just the interface, either, but actually her), or if she was just fantastic enough to understand what he needed, no matter who he was. He suspected the latter and thanked her silently for it. The console throbbed beneath his palms.

It was a light purple these days, bright red floors and blue-white lights, all bathed in a hazy glow from the central column. Overall, it might even be called mauve, and how appropriate that would be. Well, the main room was like that, anyway. The side rooms were much as was appropriate to their purpose and to their occupants, as he had left them be. No need to wipe their memories from the face of his ship, after all, no matter how painful it was to be reminded. Sometimes he needed to remember.

Besides, it wasn't as though he needed the space onboard. Only one of the rooms was occupied these days. Only one of the Twelfth's four companions remained – though now, of course, she was also the Thirteenth's, assuming that she wanted to stay.

"Are you-" For the briefest of moments as she entered the room, her face fell in horror, one of the few times that the Doctor had ever seen her lose her composure. But it was only for a second, then her abrupt tone returned. "Feeling better?"

Gently, the Doctor pushed himself – and he was sure he felt the TARDIS pushing too – back to his feet. He stood away from the console and quietly regarded his companion for a moment.

The dark rings that encircled her eyes didn't entirely mask the redness that was evidence of her recent trauma. The Doctor knew it best not to bring it up, lest she start crying once more – which would, of course, be entirely understandable (she had lost two of her travelling companions in the space of a day, and although one had survived, he could hardly be called the same man) – but it was still something he would rather avoid.

Her eyes were the only giveaway feature, both to this and to her alien heritage, something that she and Nadrin had had in common. The Doctor often wondered if there was some sort of genetic loophole that favoured the eyes when humans reproduced with alien species. Her mousy hair had been brushed back into place and her clothes changed for something a little less bloodstained. She looked quite recovered, in fact. Until, that was, she laid eyes on the Doctor.

"Is it that bad?" he asked jokingly, though no mirth was expressed in either his words or the girl's response.

"I wondered why the TARDIS had hidden all the mirrors." Her voice was deadpan.

The Doctor's fingers instinctively reached up to his face. The girl responded with an almost involuntary shake of her head, as though she, like the TARDIS, was trying to protect him. She watched as his fingers mapped the contours of his face, as his eyes strained upwards in an effort to see his own hair. Perhaps a millimetre or two stuck across his forehead in a vague attempt at what might pass for a fringe. As it caught his eye, he grinned widely. "I'm ginger!"

His face was ecstatic – he'd always wanted to be ginger, just the once. After twelve incarnations that had miserably failed in granting him his wish, he'd rather given up on it. But now, at last – fantastic!

He grinned across at the mousy-haired girl, who didn't appear to share his enthusiasm. It took a moment for him to process. Then his face fell, faster than a cartoon anvil. He was _ginger_. Like Molly had been. Sweet, caring, human Molly, the girl they had earlier watched slaughtered by a Dalek. Ah.

This would complicate things rather a lot.


	2. And Then She Danced

**Disclaimer: As before, except that I can now add that the Twelfth Doctor apparently belongs to The Scarf Warriors. **

**Hoping somebody reviews at some point. Would be nice.**

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The Doctor wasn't quite sure how to apologise, or indeed if he should. He had just about opened his mouth to say something – he wasn't quite sure what – when Twitch took a step forward. And another, and another, without breaking stride, until she was rested next to the central console a few metres away from him.

She didn't say anything, just pulled a few levers before circling round the console and pulling a few more, pressing buttons and turning cogs in between. The central column hummed into bright life, though it wasn't yet dancing as it did when the ship moved. The Doctor peered round and saw her hand poised above a small display, fingers hovering in uncertainty. "It's the orb on the left," he said, stepping across to stand beside her. Her hand reached for the button without hesitation. "And if you don't mind me asking, where are you taking us?"

She was the only one of his companions who had actually gone and learned how to operate the TARDIS (he wasn't counting Romana because she'd come onboard already knowing how). The Doctor hadn't even known at first that she'd been doing so, holed up in her room with an instruction manual – and goodness knew how she'd gotten hold of that, either – until she'd wanted to practise. He'd also marvelled at the fact that the TARDIS had let herself be handled by someone so inexperienced, but she had never let Twitch try anything without the Doctor there to supervise. And Twitch was never even allowed to attempt the riskier manoeuvres.

The Doctor had to admit that he quite enjoyed having a second pilot onboard the TARDIS again, despite Twitch's…well, incompetence would be too harsh a word. She was, after all, only human (well, sort of). But her knowledge was mostly learned from books, and the TARDIS was a little trickier to operate than that. She also wasn't Gallifreian, so her understanding paled in comparison to the Doctor's, and her sense of intuition wasn't all that great. She recognised that the TARDIS was, at its heart, a living creature, but she just wasn't able to empathise with it as he was, because there was no psychic connection there whatsoever. She was a lot better as a mechanic than as a pilot, to be perfectly honest. And she still screwed that up sometimes.

"Hello? Incoming call from the Doctor, anybody home? Twitch?" he tried again.

"She isn't responding," Twitch said sullenly. "And I'm sure I did everything right this time." She fingered the console less delicately than usual, like she was pawing at it in a plea for it to work.

"Where were you trying to go? Home?" The Doctor would have understood perfectly if that had been her attempt, especially considering what they had just been through. She wouldn't have been the first companion to leave him after a regeneration. Some of them just never adjusted, and with his rather unfortunate new hair colour, he didn't blame her in the slightest.

But the scathing look she shot him made it clear that, no, she wasn't trying to get home. If home it could be called. The Doctor had picked her up about a year ago from Collyria, one of Earth's colony planets – it had been Molly that had convinced him to let her onboard, actually, but he was glad she'd done so. Twitch was a little bit dull at times, but it was nice to natter on about the Blinovitch limitation effect and know that at least one of his companions was able to follow the conversation. And she and Molly got on well, even if they hadn't always seen eye-to-eye - Molly was too sweet and Twitch was too obstinate for their arguments to ever escalate beyond words alone, and although the latter could be rather foul-mouthed at times, her oaths were beyond Molly's understanding, so the Doctor usually let them slide.

"I was taking us back."

"Which would be why she wouldn't let you." The TARDIS wasn't stupid enough to take them back to a point where they would meet their past selves, let alone a danger zone such as that. They might be killed – in his case, he might be killed again, and that really wouldn't be pleasant. "You of all people ought to know that you can't change fixed events."

"That's theoretical. Have you ever tried?" Her bottom lip was jutting out, and the Doctor could tell she was biting down on the inside.

He rested his chin on her shoulder – quite a stretch now, was he taller? – and placed his hand on top of hers, pressing it to the console. "If I could, I'd go back to save them all. Every last one of them."

"If I'd died, Molly would have gone back to save me," Twitch said, almost to reassure herself.

"I'd have stopped her, too."

There was a long pause. "Why does everyone have to die, Doctor?"

"It's better that way." Twitch snorted with laughter. "No, really. Living forever isn't all it's cracked up to be. Besides, think how overcrowded the universe would be if nobody ever died."

That got a smile and the echo of a laugh from her – not a proper laugh, but laughing wouldn't be proper, given the circumstances. In a while, perhaps, but not for now. Now was a time for mourning – for remembering, and for forgetting.

They had remembered enough for the moment.

With a trailing glance to his companion – grey-blue eyes rimmed with red rimmed with dark grey – the Doctor left her side and returned to his other companion, his constant. He adjusted a few of the dials that Twitch had set, and the TARDIS hummed once more into vibrancy, bathing the room in soft blue-white light. And then she danced.


	3. To Somewhere New And Old

**Disclaimer applies, as ever. **

**Getting pretty desperate for a review at this point. Can't you at least tell me what I'm doing wrong? **

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Twitch didn't question where they were going. She leaned forward against the console, letting her fingers trail across the buttons without actually pressing any of them, like she was stroking them. It was her way of apologising, much as it was the Doctor's way of showing affection. One of the buttons thrummed against the contact, and Twitch tentatively pushed against it more firmly. The central column became a smidgeon brighter.

Pulling back in surprise, Twitch found the strange new Doctor positively beaming at her. She wasn't frowning, but something in her expression betrayed her confusion, because he leaned forward and whispered, "Let her teach you."

Twitch closed her eyes when she returned to the console, letting her fingers move across the various panels, hardly touching, letting her other senses fade back until she felt another hum. It was a strange sensation, such a light and familiar contact that it seemed like a sound that couldn't be heard, a delicate vibration in the air like somebody breathing against her skin. The TARDIS directed her from one button to the next in this way, a silent teacher guiding her through the process. Twitch wasn't even sure what she was doing as her hands navigated from one area to the next – she wasn't steering so much as being steered. And this, she was sure, was so much closer to what the Doctor felt – relying on the ship itself to know what to do, rather than on some dusty instruction manual.

After a while, the humming ceased, and the gentle churn of the central column faded into silence. Twitch opened her eyes and stood for a moment, gazing at something invisible between her and the central console. Abruptly, she turned away. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. Certainly not where I was going to take us." He neglected to mention that he had been taking her home. It wasn't the sort of news she would react well to and, while he knew that she might resent him forever for abandoning her, he knew that it was better that she were alive to do so than be dead because of him. Too many were dead already because of him.

Unfortunately the decision had been taken from his hands. Quite why the TARDIS had seen fit to intervene, the Doctor didn't know. He would be having words with her later. For now though, curiosity overtook all other emotion, and he stepped outside.

Twitch followed, almost falling over as she was buffeted by the strong wind. The landscape that emerged was not grey, as her initial thought had been, but silver. A cityscape - strong, striking and silver in colour, full of towering buildings and concrete paving. The mirrorglass of the TARDIS exterior seemed perfectly at peace with the surrounding area. The building closest to them had words carved into it. She recognised the letters, but not the words. "Doctor, what language is this?" The TARDIS usually translated alien languages, but this was more a sculptural piece than anything else.

The Doctor glanced upward. "_Creu Gwir fel gwydr o ffwrnais awen_,"he recited, in a voice that wasn't his own, without moving his lips. Both the Doctor and his companion turned to see a man in a greatcoat leaning against the TARDIS. "Mornin', Doc."

"Jack," the Doctor said, looking more than a little surprised to see the stranger. "Good to see you again."

Jack shrugged. "I'd say the same, but you only left yesterday." His voice had an American twang to it.

"I did?"

"You did." Jack grinned. "It's November 19th, 2009."

"So I did. Gosh, I'd forgotten. Seven years ago in my timeline. I was still travelling with Nadrin then, as I recall. Short, green eyes, hell of a kick?"

Jack grimaced, then smiled. "Yeah, my shin's still recovering."

"You're looking well, apart from that. I'd say you haven't aged a day since I last saw you, but, well…Hasn't been a day, has it? Seems rather pointless to point it out."

Jack chuckled. "And yet you did anyway. You're not looking so bad yourself. How long've you been ginger?"

"Since yesterday."

"Your yesterday, or mine?"

"Mine. Shot by a Dalek."

"Ouch. Know what that feels like. Interesting tingly sensation when you wake up, though, not quite the same as standard electrocution." He spoke as though getting electrocuted was about as everyday as taxes. "All the same, I can't say I'd want to do it again any time soon."

"Not something that I exactly planned, Jack. Besides, next death is the last for me."

Jack stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Luck runs out at thirteen, I'm afraid. I'm sure I've told you that before."

"Probably." Jack shrugged. "Live as long as I have, you tend to forget some things that you're told. No means no, I have a husband, et cetera."

"Live as long as you have," the Doctor scoffed. "Bet you haven't even hit a thousand yet."

"Three thousand," Jack countered. "Or very nearly. Spent two millennia buried under Cardiff, though – long story, not pleasant. So respect your elders." He grinned. "You can start by introducing me to this cute little assistant of yours."


	4. Lessons in Ancient Welsh

**Hoorah, I got a review at last! Thanks to moonchild94 - I'm dedicating this chapter to you! Sorry, I would have updated yesterday, but I needed to double-check something with Orrien and she went offline because of family issues. **

**Disclaimer applies as usual. Please review!**

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Twitch was completely oblivious to the strange conversation taking place right beside her. Well, not completely, but she was only half-listening. Instead, her attention was once more fixed on the words inscribed on the building. The Doctor knew a lot of strangers, she had realised, and it was pointless trying to keep track of them all. So she simply decided not to bother with them.

Jack followed her gaze. "It's Welsh," he said. "Translates roughly as 'creating truth like glass from the furnace of inspiration'."

Twitch turned to look at the man, her voice and expression equally scathing. "That's not Welsh."

"Well for God's sake, don't tell the rest of Cardiff that, they'll throw a hissy fit." He flashed her a toothy grin.

The Doctor appeared to his right and ruffled Jack's hair. "Aww, bless. You're going native, Jack."

"I feel a certain attachment to the place, I'll admit," Jack said with a frown, "but what makes you say that?"

"You just call it Welsh now. 51st century, it should be Ancient Welsh to you. Didn't they teach you anything at the Time Agency?"

Jack grinned again. "They tried."

Twitch blinked at him. Stupid though it was, she'd assumed that a man on Earth during the 21st century was from Earth during the 21st century. She ought to have known better. Anybody who knew the Doctor had to have had their timeline warped in some way, though if she had judged by appearance alone, she probably would have guessed he was from the past rather than the future. "You're from the 51st century?" she asked.

"Boeshane Peninsula," he replied, holding out a hand. "And judging by those cute panda eyes of yours, you're from Collyria."

Twitch coloured. She tried not to, but she did. "Twitch Endelbeyar." She took his hand and froze a little. Jack didn't appear to notice, and shook firmly enough for the both of them.

"Captain Jack Harkness. Usually I'd insist on keeping the title, but with eyes like those, you can call me Jack."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Spare me." Just then, he saw a familiar figure headed towards them. "And here comes your 'certain attachment to the place', Jack."

"Everything all right, sir?" Ianto smiled at Jack as he approached.

"Fine, but it'd be better with coffee," Jack replied.

Ianto took the unsubtle hint. "There's a mug waiting for you on your desk."

"Ianto Jones, brilliant as ever." Jack grinned, slipping a hand behind the young man.

"I do my best, sir." There was a slight lilt on the 'sir' this time.

The Doctor, noticing it, beamed. "Do I not get a cup? I mean, I prefer tea, but if it's only coffee going, I'm fine with coffee, too."

"Sorry, have we met?"

"We have, yes. Yesterday, in fact. I'm the Doctor."

Ianto sent Jack a sidelong glance, silently asking if the man before them was a complete nutter. Jack quirked his eyebrows in response and gave a slight nod – not to indicate that, yes, this man was a complete nutter, but to indicate that, yes, this man was in fact the Doctor. Although it was entirely possible that he was indicating both.

"He changes his face to avoid dying," Jack explained. "And the rest of him, actually. Not that I've checked," he quickly added, seeing the suspicion on Ianto's face. "Recently. And this is Twitch, his travelling companion. Twitch, this is Ianto Jones, head archivist of Torchwood, and general…support." His eyebrows quirked again.

"And Torchwood is what exactly?"


	5. The Price of Bananas

**So sorry it's been so long since my last update! I honestly meant to update sooner, but life got in the way. Thanks go to Lucy, for encouraging me; Mork, for pestering me to update; and Orrien, for beta-reading this and sniggering in all the right places. **

**Notes: Finagle, as far as I know, isn't actually a person. But then the Doctor often seems to know people that don't exist. FYI, Murphy's Law: If it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Finagle's Law: If it can go wrong, it will go wrong at the worst possible moment. **

**Disclaimer applies as usual. Please review! I'd like to know that more than just Lucy and my co-authors are reading this (not that I don't love Lucy, I do - but there's more than enough love to go around)!**

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"James Bond's wet dream," Jack replied rather crudely.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Jack, that's –"

Quite what it was, the others never had the chance to find out, as Twitch interrupted. "Who or what is James Bond?"

"Action hero from 20th, 21st century Earth pop culture," the Doctor informed her. "Wears a tuxedo and a girl on each arm. Likes to shoot things. No respect for the moral high ground."

Jack snorted. "Ever with the moral high ground, Doc."

The Doctor ignored him, focusing instead on Twitch. "You surprise me. I thought you'd have all this in your research somewhere."

"Most likely, I do." She glared at him. "I'm not Google, Doctor. I can't suddenly retrieve any information I like – I need advance warning, so that I can sort through to find what I need. And as we didn't have an advance warning this time, I didn't have time."

"And as your research is sprawled in piles across the entire TARDIS, you would have been there for months anyway," the Doctor muttered, not caring if she heard or not.

Jack heard and snickered. "Sounds like you could do with a decent archivist."

Ianto raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me, sir, are you trying to _sell_ me?"

"Sell? Never. More like...loan at an extortionate price." Jack grinned. He winked at the Doctor. "Does all the extra duties, too – cleaning, making coffee..." He broke off with a waggle of his eyebrows.

The Doctor paused to contemplate how best to respond. He settled for turning out his pockets – which took a while longer than expected, as they were bigger on the inside – and showing Jack their emptiness. Relative emptiness, this was – they were still stuffed full of screwdrivers (both sonic and ordinary varieties), fluff, an old cassette tape, paperclips, biros that had stopped working a while back, and – perhaps most curiously of all – a banana. "Don't think you'd accept any of this as currency."

"I'd accept the banana."

"You'd sell me for a banana?" Ianto asked, deadpan.

"No, I'd loan you for a banana. He'd get you for about three seconds – which, knowing you, would be more than enough time to sort out all that research and neatly archive it. With labels."

"With labels?" The Doctor's face lit up. "I love labels. Ever so useful."

Ianto was certain by this point that the Doctor had never attempted to label Jack.

The Doctor caught sight of the young Welshman's expression. "Anyway. Yes. Getting sidetracked. Off-topic. Digressing." He paused for a brief moment and scratched at his chin. "Oh! Yes. Had any...trouble...recently?"

Jack frowned at him. "We're Torchwood. Define 'trouble'."

"Anything you'd need help with," the Doctor supplied. "Anything you'd need me for."

"No, can't say there has been." Jack stretched out the words slightly, buying himself time to sort out the confusion. "I'd have called Martha if there was. Why?"

"Martha! How's Martha doing?"

"She's doing okay, as far as I can tell. Got back from her honeymoon and was straight back working for UNIT. She helped Greg get up to date with modern medical tech."

The Doctor snorted. "Modern. Ha! Couldn't be more backwards if it tried. You really are going native, Jack." He blinked. "Anyway. Yes. Where was I? Greg! I remember Greg."

"You only met him yesterday," Ianto answered with a frown. "That's not really a considerable achievement."

"Is too. I just considered it."

Ianto shot a helpless, worried glance at Jack, whose grin widened. "I think you were saying, Doctor, that you'd like a nice cup of tea?" He gestured towards the Hub.

The Doctor took the hint magnificently. "Right. Yes. Tea. Tea is good." He nodded and took a step forwards. Jack strode just in front of him, leading the way; Twitch followed the Doctor like a puppy.

Ianto sighed and, rolling his eyes, proceeded to catch up with Jack. As they matched strides, Jack glanced curiously at him. "What?"

"I can tell you're resisting the urge to ask a hundred questions," Jack said with a smirk. "I was waiting for the first few to burst out."

Ianto considered this for a moment. He supposed it must be quite a common expression for him, holding back a stream of questions – probably one that Jack had seen more than his fair share of. "The Doctor," he said finally. "He's an alien."

"That's not a question, but yes."

"He doesn't die or age."

"No."

"Neither do you."

"You seem particularly perceptive today, Ianto."

Ianto paused and fell slightly out of step. "Is he human, too?"

Jack's stride broke a little – he slowed before stopping altogether and turning to face Ianto. "No. He's from a different planet. Or he was."

"So are you."

Jack ran his tongue against his lips. "That's different. I'm still from one of Earth's colony planets. So's his assistant, actually. No. He's not human. Not in the biological sense, anyway."

"Then in what sense?"

"I don't know." Jack caught sight of Ianto's expression and immediately shrugged. "I don't. Emotionally, maybe."

"Definitely not intellectually." The Doctor appeared between them. "No offence, but you humans? Completely backwards."

"Thank you for that."

"Oh." The Doctor seemed to sense Ianto's sarcasm. "Well. You make nice tea. Most of you. The French don't. Never drink French tea," he advised. "During any era. Always tastes the same. Always tastes of –"

Just then, Ianto's phone bleeped. He looked startled as he took it from his pocket.

Jack looked at him quizzically.

"Message from Rhiannon."

"And..?" Jack prompted.

Ianto looked away, trying to avoid the Doctor's gaze. "She wants to know if you want to go round for dinner sometime this week."

Jack grinned. "Me? Why, has she gone off you?"

"She means both of us." Ianto rolled his eyes, knowing that Jack already knew this, but for some reason hating to say it in front of the Doctor.

"Do you want to?"

"Not sure I can get the time off work," Ianto replied. "My boss is a real slave-driver."

Jack grinned. "I'm sure the Rift can behave for one night."

"I'm sure it can, it's just never the night that we plan for it to behave. Murphy's Law, I suppose."

"Murphy's devices actually worked perfectly," the Doctor countered. "It was the way that they worked that was the problem – not that he ever saw it that way. Very much a glass half-empty sort of man, Edward Murphy. Mind you, he was nothing on bloody Finagle. Could've made Happy Chef depressed, Finagle could."

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**Review! Please?**


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